


never been good at this nice shit (but I can try if you like it)

by rayguntomyhead



Category: The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Comedy is hard, F/F, Female Protagonist, Female-Centric, First Kiss, Fluff, Hotel Sex, Lesbian Character, POV Female Character, slight fond ribbing of New Jersey, useless lesbians in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-19 21:46:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17009787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayguntomyhead/pseuds/rayguntomyhead
Summary: “Smells like cheap alcohol and piss,” Susie says because, well. Look at it. Mouldering, matted red velvet curtains, stacks of spit-stained, brown glass beer steins, unidentifiable sticky  liquids congealing on the floor like an alcoholic’s Fordite.“I know,” Midge says. She squeezes Susie’s shoulder, wool glove sliding across slick black leather as she all but bounces on her toes. “Exciting, right?”





	never been good at this nice shit (but I can try if you like it)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [petragem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/petragem/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide petragem! This was so much fun to write, thank you for your wonderful prompts. It gave me the push to wallow in these lovely characters and also write more femslash. Hope you enjoy, and you have a lovely rest of the holiday season! :) 
> 
> Also, it's been multiple months since I've watched the source material, and I have not seen season 2, so please forgive any mistakes in canon or period appropriateness. I spent way too much time happily trolling through 1950s slang, but I'm sure there's other anachronisms that definitely slipped through.

“Smells like cheap alcohol and piss,” Susie says because, well. Look at it. Mouldering, matted red velvet curtains, stacks of spit-stained, brown glass beer steins, unidentifiable stickyliquids congealing on the floor like an alcoholic’s Fordite.

“I know,” Midge says. “Exciting, right?” 

She squeezes Susie’s shoulder, wool glove sliding across slick black leather as she all but bounces on her toes. Even after it’s gone, Susie can feel the weight like a ghost against her skin.

Dear god. 

“Yeah. Exciting is exactly the word that comes to mind,” Susie says, “Right after homey. And clean.” 

She peels a boot up off the floor with a dejected _squeeeeech_. Okay, yeah. Not exactly the Grand Royale. But it was a gig. An actual, paying gig.

Fuck Sophie Lennon. 

 

 

“Her name is Mrs. Maisel, and she’s–“

_Click._

Susie ground her teeth. It’s only been days, but the word from the bird had spread faster than a fire in a factory. There went the possibility of getting booked at the last dirty dive she could scrape up in the five boroughs, and still no dice. No one was willing to take a chance on an untested female comic, especially one that had managed to piss off the great Sophie Lennon. 

Call after call. Contact after contact. Midge better fucking appreciate this. With the success rate Susie was running at right now, she’d practically be pulling strings with friends in New Jersey before–

Wait. 

Susie thumbed absently at the key around her neck, rubbing callouses against the blunt teeth. That might not be such a bad idea after all. The world of comedians might be small, but surely there was some skulking heap of a club in need of entertainment. Plenty of options there, if Susie was willing to put in the work to find them. And right now, Midge needed _any_ gig. Needed a chance to practice, to hone her talent. A chance to use that clevertongue of hers _without_ any alcoholic helping to loosen it. 

And if a few stand-up shows in New Jersey were what it was going to take, then goddamn it, Midge and Susie were taking a trip to New Jersey. 

 

 

Susie can still feel the weight of Midge’s hand against her shoulder. The crowd inside slumps at tables, or bars, ogling the smoky-throated jazz singer crooning it up on the stage or pouring alcohol down their gullets. They’re only here because here’s still better than home, or their job, or whatever other crappy life they have outside. In a way, it is almost homey. 

And like a bright, irritatingly cheerful little songbird with not a fear in the world, Midge _click clacks_ her perfectly fitted black-heel-shoed self into the club . 

“At least the stage isn’t right next to the damn bathrooms,” Midge says. She mimes tugging the flush of a toilet, tilts her head in towards Susie and grins. “Although that does mean I’ll have to find new and cutting observations to make about the patrons. Do you think their choice of state residency would hit a little too close to home or…?” 

“Doll,” Susie says, “if you wanna rub the Jerseyans’ noses in that wonderful little fact, be my guest.” 

Susie’s aunt’s from the Garden State. Susie’s heard this sulky rivalry played out enough times to know exactly how this is going to go.

She raises an eyebrow. “Just gimme a signal before you do so I can find a counter to duck behind in plenty of time. Maybe countdown on your fingers. Mime strangling yourself with your own mic cord and give me a thumbs up.”

Midge rolls her eyes, and okay. It’s her funeral. 

At least whatever screamingly scathing observation Midge comes up with will probably be worth it. 

Susie eyes at the bartender huddled in the corner, trying his best to swagger his weedy frame around the rough-hewn patrons intimidatingly. 

“D’ya want a beer? Might as well get something good outta this dump.” 

She starts to reach a hand towards Midge, stops, awkwardly brushes at the sleeve of her jacket. 

“Why Ms. Myerson,” and fuck, Midge’s voice drops to a damn _purr_ , like just being here playing a gig again is enough to boost her higher than helium. “Look at you, trying to tempt a girl like that. You know you don’t need to get me drunk to show me a good time.”

Fuck. Susie twitches as heat shoots through her belly, and dammit Midge. She needs a damn cigarette before she can deal with any more of Midge’s… _good mood._

“I’m gonna–” Susie jerks her head towards the door, ignores the cock of Midge’s head and the puzzled wrinkle of her nose. There’s still half an hour until they go on. She’s got time. 

The air outside is just icy enough to bite at her bones, even through her layers. They’d said this winter would be the worst New York had seen in a decade. Same shit they always said whenever it promised to drop a few degrees below freezing. Good thing they had a hotel. Trying to make it back to Manhattan in this weather… ugh.

Susie pushes a hand into her pocket, closes it around her tin. Cheap metal warms quickly in her grip, and she flips it open with easy habit. The lighter flicks on, flame dancing in the cool breeze meandering in off the river. She touches it to her cig, drags in a sucking inhale, holds it. 

God, that’s good. 

The smoke rolls gentle into the night air. Susie squints, shoulders coming down as it dissolves from grey to nothing, leaving only the rich, thick scent behind.

“Mind if I smoke, too?” 

Midge edges up beside her, pristine white coat like some kind of fragile angelic beacon in the scum and muck of the alley. Hair perfectly coiffed, lips a delicate red. Might as well have ‘Upper West Side’ painted on her back, honestly. She’s got a cup of that panther piss they’re serving inside in one hand, like she’s slummed at enough of these clubs she doesn’t even care what the drinks taste like anymore. 

Susie waits a beat out of pure stubborn, then hands one over. 

“It’s a better option that that coffin varnish you got from the bartender.”

They watch the smoke curl and spiral silent into the air. Wind feathers icy against Susie’s neck, her wrists, and she doesn’t speak. Midge, for once, doesn’t either, and Susie doesn’t _understand_ her. 

Behind them there’s a burst of laughter, and the doors creak open, spilling a small gaggle of over-soused patrons into the streets. Soon. Soon they’ll have to leave, go back to the dull, yellowed clatter inside, give the remaining ones a show. 

After she finishes her cig. 

“Oi!” 

Oh, joy.

Susie ignores the drunken shout, sucks in a lungful of smoke. After all, there’s always one. Or two or five. 

“Oi, ladies! What’s a couple of gals like you doing all the way out here so late in the evening?” 

Susie blows her lungful out and ignores the drunkard stumbled to a stop a few feet away. Like she said. There’s always that one. 

“Excuse me?” Midge, of course, does not ignore him.

Wildly enough, he doesn’t take the hint. 

“Eh, c’mon,” he sways on his feet. “Want some accompaniment to somewhere more refined? Beats jamming it up out here, like a couple of queer birds.” 

Midge better not get them into another fight, Susie _swears to God._ This man is drunkenly oblivious, not hostile. She is not spending a night in some godforsaken New Jersey clink. 

“We-ll,” Midge says.“I think jamming it up here like a ‘couple of queer birds’,” and Susie can practically see the elegant quotes around those words, “is more to my taste. Sir.”

Her voice abruptly drops to what’s practically a goddamn purr. “After all, I _did_ go to a women’s college.”

The drunk sways a little harder in belligerent confusion. Susie sways a little with him because Midge says _what_ now…?

“Maybe you should hang around here,” Midge flicks her cigarette into the street, and gives him a smile that’s just pretty as you please. “You might actually learn a thing or two about how to get a girl interested in a little backstreet bingo. ”

And she’s suddenly leaning all up against Susie, draping herself against Susie’s side. 

“…what,” the drunk mumbles, plastered enough to not quite be sure exactly if he’s been insulted, but deciding his best option is to go with an insult anyway. 

“Aw,” Midge drawls, “who warned you?”

She fits herself into Susie’s space like a dozen times before, unconsciously, like she belongs there. Susie’s cigarette burns and her fingertips and she drops it hastily, stubs it the rest of the way out with her boot. 

“C’mon, doll,” she says, turns back towards the door before the drunk can finishing running Midge’s statement through his alcohol-drowned brain. “You gotta show to put on.”

“Asshole,” Midge grumbles, but she doesn’t argue.

 

 

 

“So I’ve got good news and bad news,” Susie says. Her head pounds. She shifts the phone to her other hand and rubs at her temples. 

Why had she thought that bottle of whiskey had been a good idea? Oh right. The days of calls. Her idea. The gig. Midge’s upcoming New Jersey debut. 

Midge makes a tired humming noise that crackles low over the line. 

“Give me the bad news first,” she says. “Wait. No. The good news. I need something to help brace myself with because the second cup of coffee isn’t doing it.” 

Clearly someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Susie snickers, making sure it goes right into the receiver, and then winces when a particularly sharp pain decides to pierce the ol’ brain case. Damn devil’s brew. Knew she shouldn’t have trusted Jim within an inch of her drink. 

“Aw, did someone give you a second drink?” Susie says. 

“Ha ha,” Midge mumbles, “You know I can drink you under the table?” 

Susie snorts and then follows it up with inelegant groan as she presses her temples a little harder. “Sure you can doll.” 

There’s the raspy shuffle of rumpling cloth as Midge… rolls over the bed, maybe? Did she take her cup of coffee back to bed with her? 

That kind of morning, huh. Susie empathizes. But comparing hangovers is not, in fact, what is keeping Susie from her bed, so… “Good new is you got a gig,” Susie says. 

A delighted squeal echoes across the line, and she jerks the phone away from her ear. Dammit.

“Dammit, Midge, keep your panties on,” she says, feeling only partially appeased by the pathetic noises Midge grumbles into the phone as her own outburst echoes through her skull. “The bad news is it’s not in the city. We’re gonna have to travel–“

“Please tell me it’s not upstate,” Midge says. “Because there’s only so much I can ask my parents to watch the children, although I might have a cousin in Saratoga Springs I could give a call or–“

“It’s New Jersey,” Susie says. Like she would have if Midge had let her finish. “Couple days, shouldn’t be any longer.” 

There’s a long silence, as Midge processes this. 

“New Jersey?” she finally says, in a tone that’s so spectacularly underwhelmed that Susie can’t help but feel a _little_ insulted. Her aunt’s from New Jersey. It’s not _so_ bad. 

“That’s right,” Susie says, lets her head drop against the wall and closes her eyes. “We’re going to New Jersey.”

 

 

It’s three quarters of the way through Midge’s act, and Susie’s maybe focused enough to hear half of it. She can still feel the weight of Midge against her, clinging to her like static. Can hear Midge purring out _did go to a woman’s college._

Can’t stop hearing it. 

Damn confusing woman. 

The resentful rumble of the crowd rises. Susie shakes herself, digs her nails into her palms. Midge needs her to pay attention, and–

Is Midge… is Midge _counting down her fingers_ at her.

Aw, fuck. 

Susie doesn’t wait for the punchline, just ducks smoothly between the two louts behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Midge flip her mike cord out behind her in emphasis of what is clearly the last straw because the crowd’s finally going ape. Or at least a thoroughly soused version of it, like some kind of disturbed hive of drunken bees. 

“Time to beat feet, doll!” Susie hollers in Midge’s general direction. At least Midge has the sense to abandon the front, and as soon as she gets within reach Susie snags Midge’s hand and tugs her away from the melee. 

“And a fucking good night to you too!” Susie yells back over her shoulder. The two of them dodge random bits and bobs, bottle caps and butt-ends of cigars as they make a break for the front door, and Susie should be furious– 

Midge laughs, clear and giddy and, well. The hotel is only a few blocks away.

This gig was always a shit bet, anyway. 

 

 

“We need the room for tonight. _Tonight_ ,” Susie rubs her temples. “I don’t care what kind of deal you have going on next week.”

At this rate, if Susie never sees a goddamn phone again, it’ll be too soon. Next time, _Midge_ is in charge of accommodations. 

The spectacularly unhelpful manager of the establishment grumbles into the phone. 

“Only thing I got t’night is one room. One bed,” he says. “Take it or leave it. 

Susie twists at the key around her neck, and well. This one’s in walking distance of the gig at least. _Guess they’ll have to share_ tease unhelpfully at the back of her mind, and Susie grits her teeth. 

Needs must, after all. Midge could get over it. It was only one not. It was _not_ going to be a problem. She’s absolutely not thinking about Midge pressed up against her side, warm and soft and smelling of rosewater. 

“We’ll take it,” Susie says. 

 

They arrive at noon. A taxi ride later their hotel practically sags in front of them, yellowed and ancient, the steps creaking desolately as they trudge up them. 

“This is one of those places you say’s got _character,_ ” Midge says, after a moment. “Because there really isn’t anything else polite to say about it.”

Susie can’t disagree. 

“If you don’t like it,” she says, “then I’ll let _you_ handle accommodations next time. So’s they’re up to your standards..” 

She bangs the side of her duffle into Midge’s shin. “C’mon, let’s drop this all off and get some goddamn food. Princess.” 

The steps creak with every step, but Susie determinedly ignores both them and Midge’s squawk of outrage. The hotel might not be much, but it’s got a bed, and walls between their beds and the rest of the riffraff. That’s more than she can say for some of the places she’s stayed in. 

And to think, Susie still gets to explain the whole single bed setup. Lucky her.

 

 

Nothing looks the same in the dark of the night, but even with adrenaline of the sprint from the bar spinning in their heads, it doesn't take long for them to find their way back. And even better when they finally tumble into their beige tourist trap of a hotel room, the luggage still squats in the middle of the room where they left it. Midge kicks it over as she sways to the bed, collapsing down backwards onto the faded floral cover. She arches her back, flumps back down hard enough she bounces. 

“Guess I don’t need Sophie Lennon to get me thrown out of a club,” Midge says. “Also I’m calling this side of the bed.” 

She flops an arm theatrically over her face, dress splayed out around in in a delicate fan. There’s the smallest smear of grease, just there below her belt, from some lard-dripping sandwich someone thrown. 

She still looks almost impossibly put together, every ridiculously trim inch of her. 

“As if this was the first time,” Susie says, “And also I always sleep on the right side. Left side’s yours.” 

She bends over with achy creak to pull off her shoes and oh yeah, that’s the stuff. She digs her toes into the cracks in the cheap wood flooring, flexes them back up. She could go around Midge to the other bed but it’s all the way across the room, and she’s been on her feet all day, and besides–she’d definitely been the one to pay for this hotel, which mean _she_ got to pick which bed she wanted. 

“A lady doesn’t bring up past mistakes,” Midge says primly, rolls her arm to off her eyes just enough to eye Susie sideways. “And I’ll let you get away with it this time, but next away job I get to call my side first.”

“I ain’t a lady,” Susie doesn’t bother to do more than shrug off her jacket. She resolutely _doesn’t_ think about more nights like this, more nights climbing into bed with Midge beside her. “Didn’t her hear that fine young gent? I’m a _queer bird,”_ and oops. There went not pretending that happened. Whatever. If Midge had that much of a problem with it, well. It wasn’t like Susie had tried all that hard to hide it. Midge could just man up and say it to her face.

She stares down at Midge’s face. Which isn’t, in fact, looking at all like she has a problem. If Susie didn’t know better, she would say that shine in Midge’s eyes looks like she has rather the opposite of a problem.

Susie swallows. 

Midge rolls onto her side, scrunching her legs up under her all long limbs and puddles of soft fabric. The bed is barely big enough for the two of them, and the way it sags is nearly enough to roll Susie into Midge, if she isn’t careful.

“You know,” Midge curls an arm under her head and the smirk in her eyes sparks bright enough to near spin Susie’s head around. “If we were queer birds, we’d totally be going out.”

Midge’s eyes are so very blue, and her lipstick’s smudged almost off. Susie wants to kiss her lips red again. She clears her throat.

“…well, Miss ‘I Went to a _Women’s_ College’, I think we’ve now established we _both_ have an inclination towards the lavender,” Susie says. 

Midge giggles, high and giddy. Her hair sprays dark across her cheeks, an untidy mess just begging to be pushed off. Susie wants to pull it back, wants to cup her face and rub her thumb across the pale-rose smear of her cheekbone. 

“Why Susie,” Midge leans in closer, “is this you asking me out?”

“Depends,” Susie says. She doesn’t move, doesn’t do more than breathe in slow enough her chest aches. “Is this you saying yes or no?” 

Midge rolls closer, propping herself up on elbows. Every time she moves she wafts rosewater and cheap beer, until the smell of her drowns out the cheap detergent and mothballs, the cold sour of night air. 

“Depends,” she says. “Do I get to kiss you if we’re going out?” 

…does she. Does she _what_. 

Heat shoots up Susie’s throat, closes it down but her mouth’s moving anyway, and, “I hear that’s the done thing, yeah,” she says. 

“Probably cuddle up real close too, if you can bear it.” Midge says, and _oh_. That’s her finger, trailing down the base of Susie’s throat, her collarbone, tapping playfully at her sternum, hooking into the neck of her shirt.

“Yeah, all right,” Susie croaks. “Sure. I guess. You won me over,” and then she isn’t saying anything else because Midge is _kissing_ her. Midge is kissing _her._

She moves slow, letting Susie adjust to it. It’s been so long it’s almost strange, alien, the drag of lips against her own until Midge slides her hand back up to Susie’s cheek, pulls them together. Their bodies aren’t more than a breath apart, just the hint of the warmth of her against Susie’s skin. Midge doesn’t barely give her a chance to think, keeps kissing her slow as syrup, rubs gently at that sensitive spot right under Susie’s ear.

Susie sucks in a breath between their lips, lets it shiver down her spine. Suddenly, she’s flushing, and it feels soft and hot and so goddamn fucking _good_. 

Susie lets out a noise that _definitely_ doesn’t resemble a whimper in any shape or form and leans forward into Midge before she can stop herself. Midge just hums, lips stretching into a grin as she flicks her tongue out against Susie’s, kisses her harder. 

Her hand slides down Susie’s neck, down to thumb along her collarbone. The heel of her palm drags slow circles on Susie’s upper chest and she pulls away, catches Susie’s lower lip between her teeth to drag it slowly, gently, between them. 

“What do you want, Suz?” Midge murmurs, and _fuck._ She’s dropped her other hand down onto Susie’s thigh now, rubbing over her knee and slowly inching higher. 

“Do I–“ Susie’s chest is bubbling and fizzing worse than a soda fountain, and she reaches with hands that are definitely not shaking to cup either side of Midge’s waist.“Do I have t’spell it out for you?” 

Midge grins. 

“Maybe,” she says, nips at Susie’s neck, trails her mouth lower. “Maybe, I want you to tell me.” 

Susie tips her head back to give Midge more room, and glares at the ceiling. Goddamn Midge and her talking and her feelings and her talking about feelings–

“But right now,” Midge says, and she lets go long enough to rest her hands on Susie’s, “what I want more is for you to touch me.” 

She slides Susie’s hands over the curve of her waist, to her hips, her thighs and yes, _yes,_ that’s what Susie wants too. What she wants more than anything right now, to get her hands on Midge’s skin, to make that gorgeous mouth moan for her. 

Her hands tease the edge of Midge’s silk flirt of a skirt. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Midge arches up. “C’mon, wanted this for months, thought about getting your hands on me. Touched myself thinking about your hands on me instead of my own.”

_Fuck._

Susie nearly chokes on the want in her throat, and she can’t hold back any longer. Slides her hand higher, and higher, until she can nudge her fingers under the scalloped edge of Midge’s underwear. Susie waits for Midge to say something, anything, to stop her, to push her away but she doesn’t. Just moans and pushes up into Susie’s hands.

“Yes, shit, there, _touch_ me Suz,” she says, back arching up in demand and of course Susie does. Of course she does, cups the heat of her and rubs her middle finger along the seam. It’s damp, soaking through a little more with every touch and Susie _wants._

“Can I-“ Susie chokes out, swallows, and tries again. “Can I…. I want to…”

She squirms lower,kissing down Midge’s chest, her stomach. She tried to push Midge’s skirt out of the way, and goddamn if there isn’t three times as much volume there as is needed. Susie clumsily shoves it out of the way, looks up at Midge pleading. 

Susie needs it, needs it desperately. Needs to taste Midge, needs to get her mouth on her, let Midge bury her hands in Susie’s hair, pull her where she wanted her, wind her fingers in and _pull._

“Do it,” Midge says. “ _Do it_ ,” and Susie does, barely even stops long enough to pull her underwear off because she’s needed this so bad and never known it. It’s been so long since she’s done this, gone down on a woman–and this isn’t just any faceless woman, picked up in a no-name bar. This is Midge. Her bright, talented comet, blazing into the sky.

Susie’s so hot, but she would have to stop if she wanted to change that, take off her layers and she can’t. She needs to taste Midge, needs to gets lost in her until Susie can’t think of a thing besides the feel of her body, how much she wants her. 

Midge tastes like sweat, and cunt, and rosewater and does she really use that down _here?_ But just as fast as the thought comes it melts away, because–

“Want your fingers inside me,” Midge says, pushes her hips against Susie’s mouth,demanding, riding Susie’s tongue. Susie shivers with the sharp flare of heat in her stomach and obeys, pulls up enough she can set the tip of a finger gently against Midge. Midge bucks her hips, reaching up to grab the headboard and push herself down onto it and she’s so fusing _gorgeous_ like this.

“C’mon, Myerson,” Midge grunts, “C’mon, fuck me, that’s it, more.”

Susie adds another finger, curls them up and rubs until Midge all but wails. Every noise she’s making shoots to Susie’s head like opium, and she looses herself in it. Keeps her fingers curled up just right, flicks at Midge’s clit with her tongue until she can feels Midge shuddering, contracting down around her. 

Susie rubs her thighs together and godamn she’s _soaked._ Maybe she can get a hand between her legs, bring herself over the edge. But Midge barely shakes through the aftershocks before she pulls Susie up to straddle her thigh, and Susie’s so close, just from this, just from Midge’s taste on her tongue and her leg between her thighs 

“That’s it, c’mon,” Midge breathes in Susie’s ear. “You’re so good to me, gonna make you feel good too.”

Then Susie’s grinding against Midge’s thigh, hard and frantic and needing, Midge’s voice whispering filthy encouragements in her ear. And Susie is so close, so _close,_ it doesn’t take more than Midge’s hands cupping ass, kneading in possessively, and Susie can’t– she can’t– she’s breaking, falling, crumbling apart in Midge’s arms. Midge doesn’t flinch, just pulls Susie in tighter, and doesn’t let go. 

Dimly, through the haze and rush she can hear herself babbling ridiculous praises to Midge her body, and her hands, and her _self,_ but she can’t make herself stop even as she finally, finally, lets go. 

 

Susie’s already drifting off, almost asleep when Midge–ridiculous, difficult, lovely Midge–jolts upright and says aghast, “my _face.”_

Her what now? 

“Um,” Susie cracks an eye open. “It’s a nice one? I’d say definitely no complaints but I feel I’ve stroked your ego enough for one day.”

Midge freezes. She doesn’t say anything for a long second and _crap_ Midge wasn’t expecting Susie to be… more something, now? Maybe after all… _that_ Midge was expecting this to be different?

But Midge _giggles_ , melts slowly back down onto the bed. She wedges herself back into Susie, pointy ends of her jabbing uncomfortably as she settles closer. It’s too hot with the both of them together under the blanket, and Susie doesn’t even know if she can fall asleep with someone this close to her. Also that _little shit_ stole her side of the bed. 

Something throbs, tender and achingly sharp in her chest. She doesn’t push Midge away. 

“Just remember that tomorrow,” Midge says, half her words getting swallowed in a yawn. “When I look like a recreation of a Dali painting. See you deal with the personal _then._ ”

Susie grumbles, pins those pointy elbows firmly to Midge’s side and buries her face in Midge’s neck. Midge smells less like rosewater and more like sex and drying sweat, and y’know maybe…

Maybe dealing with the personal won’t be that bad.

**Author's Note:**

> comments feed the author's soul <3


End file.
